Conservation of Energy
by TheManWithAPlan
Summary: Five people across time and space, telling one story. Inspired by Cloud Atlas.


The blade hovered before her, cold steel wreathed in a faint glimmer of azure will.

Many of the younger G'sha followers tended to use third-circle techniques for meditative purposes, such as orbiting willspheres, minor levitation, even prolonged aura projection. All very picturesque, exactly the image a veteran warrior wished to project, but ultimately requiring far too much energy to maintain a serene state of mind. The new generation believed in theatricality over practicality, expending physical effort in the one practice designed to be inimical to it.

Perhaps that was the problem with the maidens and matrons of today, that they preferred the _appearance_ over the reality. Perhaps that was why maiden queens declared doomed wars without thought for the consequences. Perhaps that was why it took the twenty matriarchs of the Coriuscix twenty days after a war had been declared to actually decide if a war had been _declared_.

Perhaps that was why good sisters and daughters were destined to die this day.

The change was obvious to one who had lasted through seven ages: people no longer valued action, but the illusion of it. Now all they ever seemed to do was _deliberate_ and _talk_ and _negotiate _over which path to take, rather than actually take the first step forward.

It was that misguided belief that led a maiden not half an age old, but three years on the throne with her mother's corpse not even cold, to declare war on the most powerful city on the continent. When asked why, the queen responded that conflict was never her intent, that she believed that she could end the dispute with little more than idle threats and raised voices.

But words alone cannot change the world. No matter how brightly one's aura flashes, it does not make them any wiser. No matter how strong a city might _appear _to be, however loudly it boasts and threatens, it still has only as many spears as sisters willing to hold them.

However, Warmistress S'lau had the experience of age, even if few ever bothered to realize it. She knew that strength and the appearance of strength were two entirely different concepts, that an illusion was only as good as long as it was believed. Eight hundred years of old wounds and forgotten battles had taught her the price paid when the facade was revealed, and now was no different.

Others needed to expend a portion of their totality, a physical fraction of their soul not easily recovered, to induce the necessary mode of consciousness. All for the _illusion _of meditation. S'lau only needed herself and her sword.

It was enough to focus on the meter-long length of _th'ir_ metal endlessly spinning in place. It was only in observing the sword, every minute detail and imperfection, that S'lau could achieve inner peace. It was the only thing left in the world that she truly trusted, a familiarity like no other bred from taking the lives of over two dozen sisters in open combat. S'lau knew it would never fail her, and so concentrated on the entirety of its flawed perfection.

Which tended to take her on neither needed nor wanted philosophical meanderings.

The flames died down as a western wind blew through the tent. She inwardly knew that the event had no real significance, simply another passing autumn breeze, but the wind had always held a special place in her heart. S'lau's mother, long since passed into Her Embrace, had always said that the wind was the highest form of divinity. It was the element of freedom, the universal liberating force, the most direct expression of Her love and by extension the most beautiful of Her infinite creations. S'lau could still remember watching the rolling clouds, not fully understanding the words but still laughing as the breeze tickled her budding scalp tentacles.

_The wind alone can go where it wants. All else is bound to the earth, even you, my Violet Sky._

The tent flaps parted as T'tau and L'meio strode in to stand at attention. S'lau withdrew her will, lowered the blade back to the ground, then rose from a kneeling position to face her two Bladesingers.

Long since abandoning the accent of her home city, S'lau's did not speak softly nor poetically. The Battlemistress simply used the firm tones of one confident in her command, a voice long hardened through years of roaring orders across the chaos of the battlefield.

"Report." She demanded.

T'tau, a well-aged matron who had served with S'lau in at least four major campaigns, wasted no time in delivering her report. "Fanulia and Quli each send six hundred spear-sisters, all armed and capably trained. They will arrive here within the week."

Their support was expected, both cities stood to lose much should this battle result in defeat. S'lau nodded. "What of the coastal cities?"

Her captains frowned. Bad tidings then. "Our riders returned yesterday. The Five claim to have no quarrel with either side, and so they have declined to involve themselves."

"_All_ of them? Even Ajavi?"

"Yes, Warmistress."

S'lau scowled. The cities dotting the shores of the Aciean Peninsula had fought one another in petty wars since time immemorial. For them to unite in a common purpose, and for that purpose to be a stance of _neutrality_, would be nothing short of impossible. No Whispers placed inside any of the cities had reported on such a mutual agreement.

But what truly set her back was Ajavi's refusal. Ajavi and Armali had been close allies since the first Q'uizic invasion over six hundred years ago, S'lau had even fought alongside Ajavi's current queen in one of the last battles. For the Jade City to abandon its oldest friend in its darkest hour spoke of nothing less than insanity.

No time to dwell on it however. Ajavi would get their due recompense for such treachery, but first S'lau needed to win this battle, with the forces currently at hand.

Face still an impassive mask, the Battlemistress gave a dismissive shake of her head. "Then they are craven, and Entropy take them." Her captains both nodded at that.

The Battlemistress then turned to L'meio, the less experienced of the two. "And what of the enemy?"

L'meio gave a habitual bow of her head and responded, voice rigid and mechanical. She was newly promoted, and still slightly cowed by S'lau's presence. "Ten thousand spear-sisters have taken the field, Warmistress S'lau, with more joining every day. They are led by none other than Warmistress K'svari."

Yes, she had expected that. There really was no sister better suited to lead the armies of D'har and its vassal states. Once, a part of her might have weeped in soul-crushing despair to do battle once more with K'svari. If only that part had not been left slowly bleeding to death on the burning fields of Aslatish.

"Final numbers?" Before any further deliberation, all relevant information needed to be laid out and dissected.

"Fifteen thousand, Battlemistress. By the scouts' count, thirteen thousand spears, two thousand riders follow K'svari."

"And our forces?"

Brief frustration momentarily passed over L'meio's face. "Eight thousand are expected to take the field Battlemistress." The Bladedancer then blinked. "Seven thousand spears, and one thousand riders."

Bleak prospects, with almost double the force arrayed against them. This war had never been deemed wise, and with the odds S'lau was looking at it now seemed insane. But her queen had commanded her, and loyalty was everything to a Warmistress. To defy orders was to deny the self.

So against her better judgement, S'lau would fight this battle to the absolute best of her abilities. But she did not hope to win. After all, hope was just another kind of illusion. And illusions, no matter how convincing, could not change reality.

S'lau turned to T'tau, still keeping her face an impassive mask. "Envoys from Mulsantir and Jeina have yet to return."

"Yes Battlemistress."

"Do you believe they will return with good news?"

"No, Battlemistress. They would have been there and back again twiceover with the time they've been gone.", replied T'tau, delivering only blunt honesty. That same directness was why S'lau so often kept T'tau by her side.

"Do you believe they will return at _all_?"

"No, Battlemistress." T'tau set her face in grimace. "We would have already received word if either city had pledged their support. Our riders have most likely been executed by our supposed allies, as a sign of good faith to our enemies, or..." T'tau's eyes lit up with anger. "...they were intercepted before they could reach their destination."

The first possibility meant that two more supposed allies had abandoned Armali in its darkest hour. The second meant that K'svari was intimately versed in S'lau's private orders. Treachery from without, or within. S'lau wasn't sure which was worse.

S'lau briefly glanced down at the floor. "Pity. It appears it will be battle after all." She then glanced at L'meio. "Very well, send word to my contemporaries that the war council begins in one hour."

The Warmistress donned her helmet, an ages old gift given to her by a friend now long since passed. She was in full armor, as her station demanded. "We have much work to do before first light. Preliminary tactics need to be laid out, weapon and armor inventories must be taken into account, _c'slieta_ rites need to be performed, and so much else. Come."

Summoning her will, S'lau's blade, called _Solumnbrance_, sprung forward and across the spacious tent. A kineblade, _Solumnbrance_ had no hilt, forged only to be wielded by the force of one's own spirit. Guided with masterful precision, _Solumnbrance_ slid into the sheath on her back with a soft _hiss_.

Both Bladedancers bowed their heads, and the Warmistress bowed hers in turn. All three then murmured a few words in high tongue, the language of soft songs and singers. It was said to have been whispered by the nameless disciple of the Goddess Herself on the eve of battle against the _Ardat,_ in the first holy war fought for Her faith.

"_Lye ohta ikotane lye aa' e' seere._" We make war, so we may live in peace. A prayer of forgiveness for the lives to be soon taken, spoken by every Warmistress upon the sheathing of the blade.

A kineblade was never to be sheathed in a time of peace, only wrapped in soft silks and kept at the foot of its owner. Battle was never something to be taken lightly. Once sheathed, once pulled out of the soft silks and into a hardened scabbard, a kineblade could only exist in two states of being. Once sheathed, a kineblade could only be drawn. And if a kineblade was drawn, death would soon follow.

But the facade was now over, any talk or deliberation ended. Now there would only _be_ conflict, hate and death and the glorious horror of lives ended.

S'lau pushed the tent flaps aside and marched out, Bladedancers at her side. The night was young, and she could feel a soft breeze brush past her. The element of freedom, her mother called it. The only true freedom.

With that soft _hiss_...

_All else is bound to the earth, even you, my Violet Sky._

...the war began.

* * *

**Just for a point of reference, this takes place around five thousand years before the asari discovered spaceflight, Thessia's equivalent to Earth's Archaic Age of about 800-480 BC.**


End file.
